Next Time
by pharo
Summary: The next time, he swears that he'll fight the temptation to act as her personal messiah. (ShannonBoone)


**Next Time**

Author: Pharo  
Disclaimer: 'Lost' belongs to JJ Abrams and co. No infringement intended.  
Summary: The next time, he swears that he'll fight the temptation to act as her personal messiah.  
Spoilers: 1.13 Hearts And Minds.  
Feedback: pharo(at)newyork(dot)com

He hates planes. He hates the confined space and the feeling of a complete stranger breathing all over him. He envies people who can sleep as they fly millions of miles over war-torn countries and vast volumes of deep blue sea while he fidgets and stares at the back of someone's seat.

He hates it even more when he has to travel with _her_.

"This sucks," Shannon pouts as the flight attendant voice over the intercom tells everybody to fasten their seat belts. "You should've fought for the first-class seats."

"What the hell did you want me to do?" he says. "Besides, I gave you the window seat, didn't I?"

She rolls her eyes.

"As if that compares."

He sighs. He makes a mental promise not to come rushing across the world the next time she calls for his help. He will just hang up the phone, he thinks, even if her cries are real and she is genuinely afraid. He will not let himself get conned by her again.

"Well, if you hadn't insisted on buying a copy of Jane," he says, "we'd be in line before those two people."

"I wasn't about to twiddle my thumbs for the next eighteen hours."

The plane starts ascend into the air. Shannon immediately sucks in a deep breath and clutches onto his arm. He feels his heartbeat quicken as her warm skin makes contact with his cool arm. Her nails bite into his skin as she squeezes and pushes his arm into the support that separates their seats.

She hates flying even more than he does.

"Jesus, Shannon," he grimaces as he feels all sensation draining out of his right arm. "Could you loosen your death grip?"

He wants to pull her claws off him, but he's been afraid to touch her since they left the hotel room.

"Just shut up, Boone," she says, her eyes squeezed shut.

The small ding of the seat-belt sign goes off as the plane slowly levels. She quickly lets go of his arm and lets out a whoosh of air. He runs his left hand over the deep indentations of her nails and shakes his head.

"God, my head hurts," she complains.

She pushes the call button a few times before rubbing her temples with her fingers in slow circles.

A young, blonde woman wearing a white shirt and navy blue skirt carefully makes her way down the aisle. She gives him a warm smile before asking, "How may I help you, sir?"

Shannon doesn't even give him a chance to speak.

"Can I get something to drink? And a few aspirin?"

"Sure," the woman says, her smile fading a little as she turns to look at Shannon. "What would you like to—"

"Vodka."

"What she means is orange juice," he quickly interjects. "And make that two."

"No," Shannon says a little louder. "I meant what I said. Vodka."

"You can't just have vodka with aspirin. Not to mention, you haven't had anything to eat all day."

"Thanks, _Mom_, but I'm really not in the mood right now."

"You want to cure your hangover by having more alcohol? Smart, Shan."

She turns to glare at him.

"Fuck off, Boone."

The woman suddenly looks very uncomfortable.

"Uh, so I should bring some aspirin and—"

"Vodka," Shannon answers.

Boone sighs. The next time, he swears that he'll fight the temptation to act as her personal messiah. From now on, he's going to stop caring and remind himself that she is nothing more than a cold, heartless, ungrateful bitch whose sole purpose in life is to make him go through hoops to make sure that she's fine.

"I give up," he says before looking up apologetically at the flight attendant. "Can I have some water and crackers, please?"

"Sure thing," the woman says, clearly relieved to leave them.

He glances at Shannon, who has her arms crossed angrily over her chest. She's still glaring at him.

"You're such a self-righteous jerk, Boone."

"Good thing that's never stopped you from begging for my help."

"Oh, I'm sorry it was such a chore for poor, perfect Boone to keep racing to save stupid, rebellious Shannon."

"No thanks needed," he scoffs.

"I'm not about to thank you," she says, her voice getting louder. "You love playing the fucking savior, don't you?"

"Yeah, of course, _you'd _think that, wouldn't you?"

"Mother-fucking-Teresa, everybody!"

A few people turn to look at them. The man across the aisle chuckles as Boone drops his face in his hands and wonders what he did to deserve this kind of punishment.

"You're the only person I know who gets louder when she's hung over."

"Like I care what these people think," she says. "Your gold-digger whore of a mother took all of my father's money!"

"She wasn't about to give you that money to spend on alcohol and your latest boy toy," he says quietly.

"She was a—"

"Shannon, just shut up," he pleads.

He can tell that she's about to use a few more colorful terms when the flight attendant comes back with their order. He almost wishes she would linger a little longer so Shannon would stop speaking, but then realizes that spectators have never stopped Shannon from airing out their dirty laundry before. The flight attendant practically runs back to the front of the plane.

Shannon is about to go for the vodka when, despite his better judgment, he stops her hand with his. He ignores the way his throat suddenly goes dry and the memories of last night that flash across his eyes.

"You drink this and it's not going to be pretty when we hit fifty thousand feet," he says. He takes the plastic glass from her and puts the water on her tray. He pushes the small packet of crackers towards her as well. "Trust me, Shan."

She looks like she's about to argue, but thankfully, seems to change her mind.

"I hate saltines," she says.

"I know you do," he says with a nod, taking something wrapped in shiny plastic out of his shirt pocket. "Here."

He holds out the item in his hand.

"Twix?"

"I bought it when we were at the store," he says with a shrug. "I know it's your favorite."

She stares at him for a moment.

"Why Boone, aren't you just my goddamn hero?" she mutters sarcastically before snatching the candy bar from him.

He leans back into his seat, closes his eyes, and lies to himself when he thinks that things will be different the next time.


End file.
